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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306299">Looking Sad and Beautiful</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst'>winter_angst</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Cannibalism, M/M, Murder, Pining, Requited Love, Stalking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:01:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is just trying to find his next meal when he gets tangled up with Brock. And Jack decides he wants Brock as his own.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>pine4pine 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Looking Sad and Beautiful</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts">Kalika999 (kalika_999)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for the wonderful Kalika999, I really hope you enjoy. </p><p>title from Harlem by New Politics</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack was fairly certain that Brock Rumlow would yield very subpar meat. </p><p>He was too muscular; he worked out for several hours a day and hard working muscles were tough. Then again, there were several ways to tenderize meat. He sat in his car, lost amongst the other vehicles lining the streets in the residential block. Jack could just barely see into the living room of his apartment, the curtains never came together properly and he wasn’t sure if Brock knew or if he just didn’t care. Jack observed the man often from a safe distance and deemed him to be a confident, outspoken man who rarely deviated from his schedule. His schedule being: argue with his live-in boyfriend, walk to Coffee Coffee Coffee (the name never failed to irritate Jack; perhaps he should consider eating the owner instead for such a ridiculous business name), then to the gym before heading across town in an Uber (always an Uber, never a Lyft despite there being virtually no price difference) to work where he was employed as an insurance salesman. He worked from 8am to 5pm, never leaving for lunch, and then he took an Uber all the way back to the apartment. </p><p>He would have a beer and tidy up until the live-in boyfriend (who Jack had yet to consider as a possible target) returned. Things were quiet for a few hours and then the yelling would begin and the boyfriend would start shoving and hitting. It was strange to watch a man who clearly held so much strength take being pushed around and assaulted but Brock never raised a finger, much less a fist. They would reconcile their difference a few hours later, hugs and glimpses of kisses through that small slot Jack had in Brock’s life. And the next day it started all over again. </p><p>Jack usually scoped out his meals for a week, plotted carefully where to take them and then brought them back to his warehouse to bleed and carve them. He stored them in his big chest freezer, kept under lock and key, and only pulled out the meat he needed. Apartments in Queens didn’t offer enough space. But Jack had been watching Brock longer than that. There was no immediate pressure, the chest freezer was still stocked. The pickings were slim but he wasn’t going to run out for a few weeks. He told himself that was why he kept parked, why he watched Brock and followed him between shifts in the morgue. It wasn’t strange, he told himself, it wasn’t. </p><p>But deep down he knew it was. He was like Brock in that way, a creature of habit when it came down to hunting his next meal. </p><p>Jack’s one sided waltz of stalking continued as he began to notice a new concerning pattern. The fights were escalating and more than once the boyfriend had his hand around Brock throat, pinning against the wall just out of sight. Jack only knew he was being choked by the way Brock would stumble past the window, hand around his neck where angry red marks were bright against his olive skin. It infuriated Jack, almost beyond reason. He wanted to walk up and take the abuser by his throat and squeeze until his face was blue and his eyes bugged out. He wanted to feel him fight his upcoming death, to see the life drained from his eyes. </p><p>But he couldn’t, not without risking everything he had worked for. Jack was never one for a personal kill either, he preferred to string them up and cut the throat, let gravity do the work while he prepared the tools needed to take apart a body. While he told himself he cared because Brock Rumlow was to be his next meal, deep down, he knew that was a lie. This hunt had turned into a fascination Jack had never felt before. He was well aware he was a psychopath, thought he considered himself far too intelligent to ever really fall under that category. In all actuality it was just an umbrella term for those who had transcended human perspective to a deeper understanding of the world. And human flesh, a forbidden meal, was part of that. But psychopaths weren’t capable of forming attachments, or so all the books said. Psychopaths weren’t meant to feel but Jack did feel. He felt anger and happiness, he sought the immediate satisfaction he got when he began to butcher a corpse. He felt things but he didn’t have a name for what he was feeling now. </p><p>As the days passed Jack tried to come up with a name to associate with the feeling. He knew he was angry, he didn’t want his meat damaged, but there was something else there too. A strange sort of yearning, the urge to speak to this man before he was hung over the drain in the warehouse. </p><p>He wanted to know him. And that was new. </p><p>Eventually Jack went to the awful Coffee Coffee Coffee and ordered a black coffee, sitting near the door. And then Brock Rumlow walked past him, getting in line for the counter. He was beating the sharp October morning air with a peacoat and it looked...good on him. Jack was never one to admire the clothing that sheathed the body from sight but this time he really didn’t mind it. But then he noticed the purple and blue smudged around his neck hidden partially by the popped up collar. Jack had no idea how he planned to hide it at work but he decided then and there he had a whole new mission on hand. He had to protect Brock the same way you protected your chickens from coydogs. </p><p>It didn’t take long for him to decide what he’d do. He’d wait until they were out of sight and then he would go up the steps where there were no cameras and let himself into their apartment. Then, he would kill Brock’s boyfriend. </p><p>And then Brock. </p><p>Probably...possibly...maybe. </p><p>Things went exactly as expected and soon Jack was taking the steps three at a time trying to nail the perfect time frame. It was easy to unlock the door and they didn’t have a deadbolt. He let himself in, stealthy and treading on the balls of his feet. There was no real purpose, the boyfriend was ranting furiously about how he was the one who paid the bills, not Brock and his shitty job he sucked at because he hadn’t gotten a bonus in months. </p><p>There’s several ways to kill a human but the fastest way was a knife stab to the base of the skull. Brock had his arms up over his face so he didn’t see Jack as he pulled out his trusty switchblade and stabbed his boyfriend, severing the brain stem. His body stiffened, then slumped over. Brock’s eyes popped open, hazel and red from crying and he just gaped at Jack. Up close Brock was pretty, Jack realised. He liked looking at him. </p><p>“I… What did you do?” Brock breathed suddenly ashy in color. “Oh my god, oh my god.”</p><p>“I took care of your issue.” Jack was confused. “He was hurting you.” </p><p>“That doesn’t mean I wanted him dead!”</p><p>“Lower your voice,” hissed Jack and Brock did so suddenly, looking fearful. Jack didn’t understand. “I’m not here to kill you, I’m here to help you.” </p><p>“Help me? I’m going to jail.” Brock went, if possible, even more pale. “I’m going to go to jail because-because they’ll think I did this. We gotta call the cops. M-maybe I can say it was self defence.” </p><p>“We aren’t calling the police. I have a place we can dispose of his body.” </p><p>The boyfriend had a better fat to muscle ratio than Brock’s so he would fill his freezer nicely. </p><p>“How did you know he was beating me?”</p><p>“He does it every night. It was easy to plan.” </p><p>Brock’s eyes widened. “Are you...were you watching us?”</p><p>“No, just you.” </p><p>“Are you going to kill me?” Brock asked, lips trembling.</p><p>“I was.” Brock sobbed. “But not anymore. He will do. We’ll bring the body to the alley -- there are no cameras there. I’ll bring around my car and we will rid him of you for good.”</p><p>Brock nodded and Jack wasn’t sure if he genuinely was pleased about getting rid of his awful boyfriend or if he was worried Jack may go back on his promise and kill him if he didn’t follow directions. But Jack didn’t want to kill him. In fact even imagining killing him was painful and Jack was starting to understand why. He liked Brock, he wanted him to be his, to belong to him and share his world with him. He wasn’t an animal like the lump of flesh they had wrapped in trash bags. Jack would treat Brock right. </p><p>When they were settled side by side in Jack’s car Brock looked a bit less shaken. “Do you do this a lot? Save people who…. Who can’t save themselves?” </p><p>“No.” Jack glanced at him. “I kill so I can eat.” </p><p>Brock made a strange noise. “You mean like… Jeffery Dahmer?”</p><p>Jack scoffed. “He was an unhinged lunatic.”</p><p>“Oh.” Brock swallowed. “So you’re a...sane cannibal.” </p><p>Jack mulled over that description and found it favorable. “Yes.”</p><p>Brock laughed but it sounded a bit hysterical. “You were planning on eating me.” </p><p>“Yes. But your boyfriend will do.”</p><p>“Fiance.” </p><p>“Not anymore.” </p><p>Brock put his face in his hands and started to laugh between sobs. Jack wasn’t sure what put him over the edge but rested a hand on his shoulder. Brock jerked away and then froze. “I’m sorry,” Brock said.</p><p>“Don’t be sorry. You’re free of him, I’d think you’d be pleased.” </p><p>“I… It’s complicated,” Brock finally said. “I hate him but I love him...loved him.”</p><p>“He was going to kill you one day, Brock. I couldn’t allow that.” </p><p>“You were going to kill me,” Brock retorted. “Why is it okay for you but not okay for him?”</p><p>“I changed my mind. He couldn’t be changed, his type are always monsters.” </p><p>“Coming from the cannibal.” </p><p>Jack expected him to be more grateful but he knew how family members cried when they identified bodies of those who had committed heinous crimes. Grief knew no boundary, no circumstance. Brock helped carry the body of his ex-fiance into the warehouse and gaped at the meat hook. Jack got busy wrapping the chains around the ankles and pulled the stepstool, hanging his body. Then he got his knife and slit his throat, sending blood spattering to the floor. Brock began to heave into the wastebasket. </p><p>When he was finished he came to stand beside Jack who watched the draining blood streaming over his victim’s face and through his hair before dribbling into the pool gathering below him. </p><p>“How long have you been doing this? ‘Saving’ people like me?” Brock asked quietly. </p><p>“You are the first.” Jack leaned back against the table. “And the last.” </p><p>“Not one for good deeds?” </p><p>Jack smiled. “No, you’re just different. I like you.” </p><p>“Like me? You don't even know me. Save for the stalking.” </p><p>“Stalking is telling. It gives a genuine image of a person because they’re acting naturally. People act differently when they don’t know they’re being watched.” Jack smiled at Brock. “I’ve never liked someone before.”</p><p>Brock swallowed. “I… I don’t know if I should be afraid or flattered.” </p><p>Jack clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “I’d say both for now. But I won’t hurt you, even if my feelings suddenly shift, which is exceptionally rare. You’re safe Brock. I’ll keep you safe.” </p><p>Brock laughed nervously. “Usually I end up watching out for myself so this is very strange to me.” </p><p>“It'll be a first for the both of us.” Jack looked at the body. “Maybe tomorrow we can meet in the daylight.” </p><p>“How do you know -- oh, right, the stalking. I… I guess that’d be okay but what about the police?”</p><p>“Report him missing. They won’t find any evidence.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“I’ve been doing this for years, Brock. I am sure.” </p><p>Brock’s shoulder went lax and he looked at the coagulating blood. “I guess I really should be thankful. I don’t think I would have left. You probably saved my life.” </p><p>Jack put a hand on his arm and he didn’t jolt away. Progress already. “No one will ever hurt what’s mine.” </p><p>Brock smiled and Jack felt victorious. He had done it, he’d made sense of this new feeling, found a person who made him feel and was still able to fill the chest freezer. Things couldn’t have gone any better.</p>
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